


Muggle Potter and the Prettiest Boy on Earth

by SenpaiEridan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Crushes, Daddy Kink, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20153146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenpaiEridan/pseuds/SenpaiEridan
Summary: Harry Potter had never felt real love, or, if he had, he couldn't remember it. He doesn't know how or what to feel when he's around the new boy. Is this what he had been craving his whole life? Is this love, is this what love feels like?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Harry Potter fanfic and I didn't feel ready to write it in the magical world. Excuse any mistakes please, I'm trying my best.

The moving trucks outside whistled, the sound of rubber tires on pavement filled his ears. He didn't want to look up, out the window, see who was going to replace his one and only friend Ron. That idea scared him, the thought he'd never see Ron again. They'd make due, right? 

They always do. They always pull through. 

It was always Ron and Harry against the world. 

He willed himself a peak out of the glass but what he saw surprised him. Standing on the grass, looking sunken, had to be the prettiest boy on Earth. Maybe it was just the pale lighting, but his hair looked like a halo around his pretty, pointed face.

He was in awe. That couldn't be a human, could it? That couldn't be.. That was a doll. That had to be a 5-foot-something doll because Harry couldn't spot a single imperfection and it was standing completely motionless on he lawn. 

It-- he-- must have felt Harry's gaze on him, because his head whipped to the side and he pressed two stormy eyes to Harry's. The look made Harry's breath catch in his throat. 

"Did you see our new neighbors, Dudely?" Aunt Petunia asked as she bustled around the kitchen, making dinner for her family. Her hands were silent and nimble, whipping around the counters with all the newest cooking technology. 

"Yeah, I did mother. I saw their car too. What's wrong, movin' into a place like this with a car like that?" Dudely questioned, tapping his fingers on the wood so it made a soft, organized click that irritated Harry to no end. 

Aunt Petunia began without looking up from her creation, "I don't know, Dud. But I say you make good friends with that boy." 

"Why?" Dudley questioned. He doesn't make friends, he intimidates people into being his friend, Harry thought. He wonder if maybe he could do that, too, if he could bully someone into liking him. If he didn't have the reputation he did now maybe he'd try it. Even though he probably wouldn't scare a soul. 

Maybe with the doll-kid. 

"Alright, Duddles. Looks like Vernon will be late..." She worried at her lip, looking at the clock over her stove. "Looks like its just you and me," a sneer made way to her made-up face, "and Harry." 

She placed a plate piled with food in front of Dudley, an average portioned one in front of herself, and one void of much at all for her nephew. Harry didn't mind it too much, actually. His stomach had grown used to the starvation and it just allowed him to leave the table all the more quicker. 

"You know," Aunt Petunia started, hawk-like eyes trained onto Harry's, "you better not get too close to that new lad. You will ruin everything." 

"Isn't a little rude to only want to hang out with someone because your parents like his parent's car?" Harry pressed.

The woman released a heavy, exhausted breath through her thin chapped lips. "Isn't it a little rude to disrespect the people who care for you? Who gives you a place to stay and feeds you a balanced diet? You're just like your mother..."

Harry shook his head and stood, slamming his empty chair so hard under the table the silverware shook. Dudley's lip quivered, but before Aunt Petunia or Dudley could say another word, Harry disappeared into his stairwell closet and curled up on his tiny mess of blankets. 

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," he mumbled to himself, into the sea of his pillow, tears wettening his cheeks. He cried until his heart calmed, until his skin was dry and uncomfortable with tears. When his eyes could no longer produce any more liquid, he looked to the wall clock limply pressed into the corner of his room. 

"I should run away. Yeah. I could make out." He glanced to his bent knees, "I'm big enough. I could live in a cave." There are no caves in Pivot Drive. He battled with the voice inside his head until he fell into a light, colorful sleep. 

He could see the blond boy immediately. Stargazing, leaning over the edge of a building, fingers tight around a solid steel fence. He was completely steady and still in the most elegant of positione. When he straightened out to face Potter, he was just a little shorter than him.

"Hey," Potter greeted shyly. He was desperate to hear the boy speak. Maybe he'd sound as he looked. Perfect, light, and regal. Maybe he was an American. Whatever he was, he was so absolutely, frustratingly beautiful. He was so pretty, his skin so pale, his eyes so grey and intense. His hair was just as perfect as the rest of him. Harry wanted to reach out and touch them. "I'm Harry."

The kid looked at him expectantly. His face was almostunreadable, but Harry could see just a tinge of annoyance. Why was this boy such a twat? Couldn't he just be another carbon copy of Ron, just a lot of shorter and a lot prettier? 

"What's yours?" Harry pressed, desperate for a word. He wanted to devour this boy. He wanted to surround himself in lemons and sea storms and untouched, soundless snow. 

The boy opened his mouth, but his vision faded into the red of his eyelids before he could say a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinion on Drarry with a daddy kink?   
I think Harry would be a softer dom and Draco a power bottom.  
But I mean Im pretty okay with having it rougher lmao.

Harry awoke to the sound of rapping on the thin door. He groaned and buried his head into his pillow, trying to will himself back into sleep. He tried to ignore the sounds of his Aunt, of the world. He felt like if he could go back to sleep, maybe there was a chance that he could hear it.

He looked like a Troye with that hair, but a Maven with those eyes.

It was Harry's mission to learn. Names lingered on his lips but they didn't go anywhere. Because they wouldn't do. He needed his name.

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia shrieked from outside the door, slamming on the door feverishly with her whole palms. It rambled within its tiny rusted hinges.

"I get it! I'm awake, I'm up!" The knocking subsided and the clack of his Aunt's heels walking away filled his ears.

He took a few deep breaths in so it shook his whole torso. The brunette wanted to curl up on himself and sleep. He was too tired for this. Too tired to get up now. Too tired to live anymore. He was tired of sleeping here, he was tired of living here, he was tired of never leaving here.

He sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Just one more day, he told himself. One more day.

One more day until nothing. It was just something that gave him peace of mind. He told himself when he didn't feel like dragging himself out of his blanket pile that there was only one more day.

This little voice in the back of his car wished he'd been in the car, too, with his parents.

He changed with one hand, bundling up his pajamas.

Harry felt a little better after he was fully changed and he tamed his messy hair a tiny bit (he could never make it look neater than "artfully messy").

Dudley was at the table when he disappeared out the door.

And that doll-looking blond was sprawled out in the middle of the lawn. Seeing the stranger laying there, so defenseless, made Harry feel something alien in the base of his stomach.

Without opening his eyes, the boy snapped, "Take a picture, it lasts longer."

Harry rolled his eyes. The only pictures he had been in all the black-and-white ones for the school yearbooks. If the Dursley's ever took a family picture, he'd sit at the wall and watch.

Sometimes, Harry hated himself, too. But sometimes he didn't.

"Shake the polaroid for me?" Harry asked.

Draco mocked a fanning motion with his wrist. Harry couldn't help himself; his stomach lurched in the best possible way again. "Sure."

"Alright." Harry admired him. "What are you doing out here?"

"Believe it or not, I'm trying to tan."

"How's that working out for you?" Harry didn't like the idea of Draco any darker than he was. It'd ruin the snow, he wouldn't look like an angel or a doll anymore.

"I dunno, you tell me, you're the one who can't keep his eyes off me."

He drew himself, standing to his feet. Harry sat up after and stared at the other's Chuck Taylor's. "Like them?" He said.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're cool and all. What's your name?"

"Draco Malfoy," he-- Draco said. God, what a beautiful name for such a beautiful boy.

It fit him. He was so small and skinny and pale and just the littlest bit sickly, but he was as strong and elegant as a dragon.

"I'm Harry Potter."

"That's a little bit boring, Potter."

He looked so smug. So content with himself, with that little pointed face. He had small, soft lips. When Harry stood up, too, he was proud to report Draco leaned to him the slightest bit.

A nearby cry of his own name pulled Harry from the moment. He didn't want to turn around, he didn't want to face his Aunt.

"See you soon, Malfoy?"

"Probably not." Draco said with a knowing smile. "I tend to not exist." He leaned onto his tippy toes.

"I said Harry--"

"And I don't talk to boys like you," the shorter finished.

"You don't talk--"

"HARRY!" His Uncle had appeared now. He mumbled a goodbye as he turned around. As he walked back to this place he called home.

To his own personal, friend-less, painful Hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So i thought this was chapter 2 and I was like,, I know Harry jerked off somewhere in this book but where?

"Why can't you ever listen to a word I say?" Aunt Petunia asked, her eyes narrowed as she glared at Harry. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. Uncle Vernon stood beside her, boxing out the whole doorway with his heavy frame. 

"Why can't you just let me live?" Harry shot back, relying on his sassiest and defensive voice he could muster. Something about the blond drew him in, drew him closer, something he didn't want to deny. Maybe he was being melodramatic, but the moments he spent with Draco had put him at ease. 

"Because you run and do things like this, Harry. Because you ruin everything. We didn't want you, and we shouldn't have taken you." Harry curled in on himself, feeling tears welling in the corner of his eyes. He couldn't let them fall. He had to be strong, he couldn't show that these words hurt. He had to be brave.

"Then why don't you just get rid of me?" He snapped. He could hear his voice break. 

"I'm tired of you, hearing talk to your aunt like that. You're grounded, now, Harry, are you proud?.." Uncle Vernon kept talking, but at this point, Harry couldn't stand to listen anymore. He sat on the floor, facing away from his guardians, and released a silent sob.

When they left, if he made a noise, Harry didn't know. He left his spot, his body shaking, and crumbled onto his tiny bed. He curled in onto himself, tucking his knees under his chin. 

He dreamed about Draco again.

The mood was different. 

Harry slid his hands down the front of his shirt. He could smell the sweat lingering from his dream on his skin. His hand slipped down the waistband of his joggers before he could make it stop, not that he wanted to. 

He pushed them down, followed by his boxers, and took his member in his palm. His flesh thrummed. He missed this feeling. Harry tried not to do this anymore, the possibility of his aunt or uncle catching him was too risky, but God, all he wanted to do was jerk off to off Draco's face.

He bit his top lip, his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose. He forgot how good this felt.

5:44 a.m.

"Fuck... Mm.." Harry threw his head back and his glasses slid back to their spot. They were totally foggy, but he didn't feel like looking at himself anyway. The blank canvas allowed him to picture Draco. He focused on his face: pink lips parted, soft and moisturized. 

Those stormy eyes shiny with lust. He tried to conjure the sounds from his dreams; the pleasured whimper, following whines of wanting more. 

"Fuckin' slag.." He mumbled before digging his teeth back into the chapped flesh of his lips. He could feel himself getting closer, gaining on his own orgasm. It made his eyes roll back. "Mm. Draco.. fuck.."

He gasped, prepared himself for orgasm, and shot into his palm. Every muscle in his body clenched and tightened. He rubbed the cum off on the skin of his thigh before he got up and showered the moment from his body. 

Aunt Petunia had a single computer in the spare bedroom no one used. It was large and boxy and outdated, even for the time. Harry dressed into clean, soft clothes, grabbed a blanket, and snuggled down on the seat. 

He logged onto instant messenger and scanned his notifications. It was hard for Harry to seeing his friends nowadays, so he. resorted to talking to them online. 

SmartestGirl: Alright, Harry. Do you know that boy that you live next to? 

CookieWizard: how could i forget?

SmartestGirl: Hmm.. Slightly agreed. He looks familiar. I'm sure I've seen him before. 

CookieWizard: probably on the cover of dazed

SmartestGirl: Someone got a crush. No, just... I probably saw him when we visited London or something. 

CookieWizard: thats where hes from? 

SmartestGirl: I don't know.

SmartestGirl: I miss Ron. 

CookieWizard: i do too :/

When he heard Aunt Petunia's alarm clock begin to ring, he quickly logged off without saying goodbye (Hermione would understand) and dashed, made a beeline back to his pathetic excuse of a room and crashed on his blankets. 

CookieWizard disconnected from the chat.

What was Hermione talking about, having seen Draco before? A face like Draco's isn't one you can forget so easily. Or maybe it is. Maybe it is like when you're like Hermione. Smart, logical. People like Hermione don't really feel attraction, do they? 

Harry spent the day avoiding Dudley and napping in his mess of blankets. The floor felt so hard and unforgiving against his body, but after 16 years, he grew used to it. 

He felt kind of bad for jerking off to Draco, but God, it felt good. His whole body had calmed from the high, but it felt so good at the time. Was it wrong to touch yourself to someone even if they didn't know you were doing it? 

I mean, that's what pornographic magazine was for, right? Pretty girls line up and show their pretty bodies. 

Harry never thought they were very pretty. 

But what... What if Draco wasn't into guys? What if guys like Harry were guys who liked guys and guys like Draco, in particular?

How'd he know? 

How could he tell he was gay? Did he smell like it? Did gay have a smell? Was Harry even gay? He couldn't be gay, he believed in God and he went to church sometimes and he liked Christmas.

So Harry fell into another interval of sleep with the idea of more showers and a stop at the mall for some cologne.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> draco is my tiny edgy boi.

Harry spent most of his day lazing in the small nook of his bedroom. He had a stack of books he decided to read in his spare time tucked beside him, but he couldn’t focus his mind on the words for very long. His thoughts kept wandering; the end of the summer season approaching swiftly, a certain dragon like blond staying just a few yards away in his own little home, how Hermione was, how Ron was settling… he’d have to IM the ginger soon, which he didn’t mind. Interacting with his best friend could deliver the Potter some peace of mind. 

When he was certain Petunia and Vernon where asleep upstairs, he crept out from his cupboard and into the living room. Dudley was huddled beneath half a dozen layers of blankets (that is despite the summer heat) in the living room, staring vapidly at the screen as he lazily played video games on the bulky console. 

Harry needed to clear his mind. Everything was beginning to weigh down on him, and his head was beginning to throb under the intangible pressure. He slipped out the front door before glancing back at Dudley. Once upon a time, he was filled with nothing besides hatred for his cousin, but over time that had ebbed. As he grew older, he began to realize how similar the two of them are. They both were terrified of something, and for Harry, that may be being trapped within his Aunt and Uncles walls for another year, and for Dudley that could be losing his reputation or social status or whatever worries him in his little world of Dudley. 

Outside, he could see a faint, small bubble of light settled on Draco’s front porch. He could hear a deep, hefty breath, and then a shuddering cough afterward. It took a moment for him to realize the hunched figure was smoking.

“Harry?” The voice asked. Draco’s voice. But it was Draco’s voice with a film in his throat from smoking, ruining the thick, fluidness of his accent. Harry skipped down the steps and followed the beautiful sound. Draco was always beautiful, Harry decided to himself. Draco was always beautiful. And that was a promise.

“Hey, Drac,” the boy said, elbowing himself room on the step.

“Don’t call me that. And let’s get away from here,” Draco replied, and he stood up. Harry followed suit and nodded fairly at the idea. 

“Alrighty, got it. Let me take you somewhere then.”

They didn’t talk as Draco followed him. The only sound was of summer crickets, their soft, considerate footsteps, and the inhale of Draco as he pressed the stick between his lips. When he exhaled, the smoke billowed around them like a cloak. 

Finally, Harry broke the silence, “Do you have to do that?”

Draco fumbled throughout his denim jacket for his box before he asked, “Want one?”

“I’d rather die,” Harry said dramatically as he arrived at a house. The paint was peeling and water ruined, the steps stripped and raw. Harry popped each one of them carelessly, and although Draco was a good deal smaller, he trekked up with caution. 

“Why’d you take me here?” Draco asked. He stepped a little too close to Harry, but the taller decided it was due to the confusion of midnight. In the dim light, all he could focus on was the glow of Draco’s flesh, the part of his cherry-red lips, and the exactness of his straight white teeth.

“The stars aren’t as pretty in Pivet,” Harry told him. He wanted to hold Draco, lean himself down and burrow himself into the smaller’s neck. Even when it was masked by cigarette smoke, Draco still smelled so good (and potentially gay. Again, if gay had a scent, that is. This was way too complex for Potter to understand).

“Alright, dweeb,” Draco teased. His lemony hair shone in the silvery moonlight. He wanted to reach out and touch it.

As they entered the old, wicker cabin, crossed the moldy living room, rounded the corner to the staircase, Harry asked, “Why are you so perfect?

Draco didn’t reply, just raised the cigarette to his lips and inhaled another puff. His face flashed with panic as he needed to cough, but refused. Harry smiled to himself. 

“I still think you’re pretty perfect.”

“And that, Draco, is Ursa Major.” 

The two sat together on the roof, their arms crossed behind each other’s back. It felt romantic to Potter; he wouldn’t even be mildly surprised if they kissed. He could imagine the taste of Draco’s minty toothpaste and smoke, and it made him lick his lips with want.

“Coolio…” Draco said, squinting into the sky. He had finished the rest of his pack earlier, and Harry could barely stand being cuddled up so close when he was still smoking, but it felt so good to be close to him, he could be covered in blood and Harry would still jump at the idea of curling up with Draco. 

Yeah, he decided he was pretty gay, and that was alright with him-- or at least, it would be if Draco was, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like these are totally boring ;-; are these boring???

They stayed out all night; buying loads of snacks at Silvanus’s Corner Shop and eating the on them on the train tracks. It felt so right to be with Draco, to be with him until the sun was beginning to glow against the horizon. He never wanted to return. He never wanted to go back into the house that doesn’t want him for him, wants him for something they can control because they didn’t do that with their son. 

It felt right to be laying side by side on the ground with the other, sipping on Arizona iced tea, fingers stained with chocolate from Silvanus’s one-of-a-kind chocolate frogs. They were kind of salty for milk chocolate, but the two of them downed at least a dozen together.

They kept naming constellations until they didn’t know the names and had to create their own. James, Lilly, and Tom. 

“I really liked tonight,” Harry said as they finished a mini-pack of Cheezits. He was smiling too hard his face was feeling numb and forced. 

Draco sunk into him, hands enclosing around his arm. Harry loved the way Draco grew clingy around him. “Me, too.”

A comfortable silence swallowed them. They were sitting beside the train tracks, so Harry wasn’t particularly scared when he heard the tracks rumble distantly. Draco nuzzled into his shoulder, whimpering slightly. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked softly, laughing. He wrapped his arm loosely around Draco’s waist, tugging him close.

“I’m okay…” He bobbed his lemony head into Harry’s shoulder, “I just hate loud noises like--” he tucked himself extremely close as the train passed, whistling loudly and shaking the platform as it did so, “...that.”

Harry smiled. He thought about how much he wanted to kiss Draco, and that was a lot. He wanted to pull the smaller close and press their lips together softly, to stroke the back of his head and gently cup the sharp cut of his jaw. He thought about sliding his hands up his shirt, gingerly stroking the pale expanse of his flesh. 

He thought about turning, pulling Draco on top of his lap to straddle him. He wondered how Draco would be in bed; if he’d be totally submissive or tell Harry what to do from beneath him (which, in all honesty, he wouldn’t mind either way. He wouldn’t mind doing anything at all if it made Draco happy). 

He stared at Draco lips, and maybe Harry was crazy, but he felt like Draco was looking at his lips, too. 

“What did you mean,” Harry began, looking up into his eyes. Draco shifted away, averting his eyes to look at the tracks. “When you said you didn’t talk to boys like me?” 

Draco sighed, tilted his head back, and scowled. “I don’t even know, if I’m being frank, Potter. I just… you give me this vibes, okay? And these are vibes I just… I just like a lot, yeah, but I feel so wrong talking to..”

“What vibes?”

“It’s 4 A.M.”

“I should get home,” Harry sighed, sagging against the wall into his knees. 

“Yeah… Hey, look, I’m sorry… About your parents. I’m so, so sorry you gotta live with someone like that,” Draco said warmly. He looked to his friend and smiled sadly at him, “You deserve better, Mr. Harry Potter.”

“Thanks,” he smiled back, letting the sincerity of Draco wash over him. “They’re not my parents, though. They’re just my aunt and uncle.”

Draco paused for a moment before quietly asking, “This may be a bit personal, but why do you live with them?” His question lingered in the air, “... what happened to your parents?”

“They, um, died in a car crash,” Harry explained simply. He could hear his voice quiver in his throat. Who can you trust if it isn’t your vocal cords?

“That sucks… I’m sorry,” Draco said. He stood up and opened his arms. 

Harry stood and curled his body around Draco’s. Feeling his embrace, feeling his skin, the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin.

“I gotta go now.” 

And with that, two boys; one in love, and the other loved, walked home in a soft, welcomed silence.


End file.
